


gimme fat boy's famous arrow

by mwestbelle



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loosely inspired by <i>Thoroughly Modern Millie</i> (no knowledge of the show necessary!); Cassadee is a flapper intent on marrying her boss and Jersey is the poor musician who wants her for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gimme fat boy's famous arrow

**Author's Note:**

> For who actually holds me to my promises
> 
> Warnings: Uh, almost zero knowledge of the characters, 1920s slang?
> 
> (Originally posted March 21, 2010)

Mikey Moriarty moved to the Big Apple as soon as he could afford a ticket out of his hometown, like any self-respecting jazz kid. There were enough Michaels, Mikeys, and Mikes at the music agencies to start a goddamn philharmonic, so he took to his nickname with pride. He felt almost like a real jazz star, introducing himself as "Jersey," instead of another dull old Michael. Not that he had many gigs with his big bass fiddle, but he made enough for a room at the boarding house and the occasional outing. Whatever it was, it was better than a quiet life back home. It got even better when young lady moved into the room a floor above him. No, not a young lady--that's what his mother would say, and Cassadee Pope was hardly a girl he would introduce to his mother. She was a real jazz baby, a Modern Woman (as she often told him), a flapper with a killer smile. He wouldn't be foolish enough to deny he went head over heels for her the first time he saw her, any more than he'd be foolish enough to let her know. A bearcat like her didn't want nothing to do with a broke musician, a fact that was his least favorite subject and, somehow, her very favorite.

"I can't believe you're in love with your boss." Jersey leaned back in his chair, watching all the dolls and gigolos shaking and bopping out on the dance floor, fringe flying all around.

"I'm not in _love_ with him," Cass said, giving him an amused smile. "Where would you get a silly idea like that?"

Jersey sighed. She was difficult, sneaky, and it just made his heart beat all the harder for her. "You just said you were going to marry him."

"Yes." She sighed, as though deeply exasperated, but he could still see the sparkle in her eyes. "Marriage hasn't got a thing to do with love these days. The modern woman--"

"Ugh, you've been reading those magazines again." Jersey swirled his drink, rotten bootleg in a china cup. He couldn't say that he liked the taste, but what kind of guy didn't even try to get into a juice joint?

"And why shouldn't I read magazines? The modern woman has control of her life," Cass said with a tilt of her chin that told him this was mostly verbatim from the magazine in question. "She'll marry and make economical choices for her future." She smiled sunnily and turned her attention back to the dance floor.

"I could buy you baubles too," Jersey mumbled, even though he really couldn't. Cass looked over at him and he coughed. "Isn't he twice your age?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Cass shrugged. "He's wonderful, though, and he runs the whole company. Just think of it: Cassadee Wentz."

"I'm trying not to." Jersey took a sip of his drink, steeling himself.

"Well, what do you know?" Cass glared at him. "You're poorer than I am, hardly a _dignified_ man like Mr. Wentz." Jersey looked down at his lap and Cass sighed. "Why don't you just take me home then, if all you're going to do is speak poorly of my fiance and not even ask me to dance."

"You want to dance?" Jersey set the cup down and stood, offering her his hand. "We'll dance. And he's not your fiance yet."

She took his hand and he led her out to the dance floor. The band was okay, nothing special--he could play better, he thought as he twirled her into him. The pearls draped around her neck pressed against his chest when he held her close, but the slow sweet song quickly turned into a hot jazz number. The crowd cheered, and he had to let her go, holding her hands while she did the Charleston, fringe swinging madly.

"He will be, though," she said when she stepped closer. He had to wait until she'd swung back, kicking her up her heels, and then come close again before he could lean in and speak over the din.

"He might not. How do you know he's even interested?"

Cass gave him a dark look while she stepped away and came back to grumble, "Are you saying I'm not the sweetest smarty you know, and certainly the fastest stenog at the company?"

"Of course you are," Jersey said, holding tight to her hands so she couldn't back away again. They probably looked foolish standing still on the edge of the dance floor, but he didn't care. "I just think you deserve better than a sugar daddy, that's all."

"What do I deserve more than a powerful and handsome husband and more money than I could spend in my whole life?"

"Love." Jersey dropped her hands. The look on her face made him turn scarlet. He could hardly believe he'd said it, after he'd told himself that being her friend was better than not having her at all. He wasn't going to make a move, and it was obvious why. He could never treat her that sweet, not as a mostly-unemployed musician. He wasn't what she wanted. "Come on. I'll take you home."

The last thing he wanted was to walk all the way home with her, after he'd revealed himself so totally. But he wasn't about to leave her alone, not at night in this neighborhood. A girl like her would get scooped up, though she'd certainly claw any daddy who tried to get fresh with her.

They walked home in silence, and Jersey wasn't sure whether he wished they could afford a cab or not. It would be faster, but to be enclosed silently with her...that would be horrible. For now, at least, he could pretend they were simply enjoying the quiet of the night in companionable silence. Instead of this, the silence of _you idiot_ and _she'll never speak to you again, she'll go off, marry her beloved Mr. Wentz and you'll still be a broke kid with a bass fiddle._ He didn't like that silence much.

Cassadee lived a floor above him, and she didn't look at him when she kept going to the next flight of stairs, so he didn't walk her to her door. He headed down the hall to his own room and fell still-dressed into bed, and didn't get up.

Jersey didn't see Cassadee for near a week. He played at a few clubs, when the usual musician, and their back-up all failed to appear, and tried his best not to imagine Cass in her sleek work get-ups, typing up memos from her perch on Mr. Wentz's lap, Mr. Wentz twirling strands of her sweet brown bob around his fingers.

It was on Friday afternoon that a knock on his door turned out to be her. He hadn't been expecting to see her, and he let her go in past him. She was walking with a purpose, like she always did when she was on a mission, and she didn't stop until she was standing in front of his unmade bed. She turned on her heel to face him, all decked out in her office clothes, and Jersey felt awfully dressed down, just in his undershirt and suspenders.

"Mr. Wentz is engaged," she said, and Jersey blanched. "Not to me."

"Oh," he said, unsure of what to feel. His heart was hammering against his chest, more resonant than any note he'd ever plucked on his bass.

"She's one of those high society girls, you know? Pretty and rich. Does her shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf Goodman."

"Oh," Jersey said again. He licked his lips to wet them. "I'm...sorry, Cass."

"But the thing is," Cassadee continued, watching with her eyes sharp and trained on him without a question, "I don't want to marry him."

Jersey snorted without being able to stop himself. He'd listened to her go on about Mr. Wentz for months, suffered in silence, and he wasn't willing to just accept that. "What are you talking about? Of course you do, it's all you've talked about. All you want is to marry Mr. Wentz."

"Maybe," Cassadee said, and then she smiled. It was just a little smile, a shy one, unlike any smile he'd seen on her lips before. "Maybe I just wanted you to tell me not to."

Jersey stared at her. " _Oh._ "

" _Oh_ ," Cassadee teased, taking a step closer. "Do you...do you want me not to?"

"No. I mean, yes. I..." Jersey sighed, frustrated, and gave it up, taking the last step to cup her cheeks and kiss her. She kissed him back, and he was sure he couldn't have been happier if Louis Armstrong himself walked through the door and asked Jersey to play with him. _No thanks,_ he imagined himself saying, somewhat hysterically. _I'm busy kissing this girl. This is my girl._ When they broke apart, he ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "I can...I'll buy you pretty things, Cass, I swear I will."

"You?" Cassadee snorted and shook her head with a grin. "You're flat broke, Jersey, I make more than you do. I...I might not be shopping at Saks, but I think I do fine."

"You do jake." Jersey grinned back at her and pressed another smacking kiss to her lips. From this close he could see all the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks; she could never hide them all with face powder, and he would never want her to. "Just jake."


End file.
